


Early Birthday Present

by ScullyLovesQueequeg



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Complete, F/M, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3431501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyLovesQueequeg/pseuds/ScullyLovesQueequeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt from Meg was <a href="http://aliens-scully.tumblr.com/post/110038385423/msr-nonsense-once-a-year-mulder-indulges-scully">"Once a year, Mulder indulges Scully in dinner and a classical concert as a very late/very early birthday present."</a> </p><p>Since Feb. 23 is Scully's birthday, I decided to make it a birthday fic. So Mulder takes Scully out to a classical concert and dinner. Rated T for language and some suggestive stuff, but nothing explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Birthday Present

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpyderScully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpyderScully/gifts).



“C’mon Scully, the show is going to start in 20 minutes, and you know that there's going to be all kinds of traffic…”

Mulder heaved a giant sigh, and knocked on the door to Scully’s room, where she had secluded herself. There was a soft noise, and he thought he recognized it as tears. His expression softened, just as she answered,

“I'm not going.”

“Why not?”

“I don't—this doesn't look right,” Her voice was soft, and for a second, he thought she was crying, but she opened the door, and he had to do a double take.

The dress she had picked was a short black dress that came with a pair of gloves. She hadn't bothered doing anything with her hair, but she didn't need to, because she looked fine either way, at least Mulder thought so.

“What's wrong with it?” He asked, coming up behind her, so she could see him in the mirror without turning around. She was hyperaware that the situation was very intimate, and if it were any other man, she knew he would probably be trying to plant a kiss on the exposed expanse of skin along her neck and collarbone. And she wouldn’t’ve minded.

But he didn’t.

“I love this dress, I just don't feel like it's something I should wear. I mean, is it too provocative? Do you like it?”

“Scully, this is my treat to you. You can wear whatever you want. It doesn't matter what I like. I like your company. You can be in pajamas for all I care. If it makes you happy, wear it,” Mulder said, and Scully sighed.

“Well, it's missing something.”

Mulder took the liberty of digging in her jewelry box, and if he’d been any other man, she would have kicked him out.

But he was Mulder. Mulder was safe. Mulder was a warm fire and a fluffy blanket wrapped around you in the coldest of nights. He was the worn book you read when you were comfortable, and he was your favorite pair of jeans you wore when you were seeing your friends.

He produced a set of pearls from the jewelry box and extracted it slowly. They looked like something she had borrowed from her mother and never gave back. Without a word, he put it on her and clasped it.

“How about that?” He asked, and she smiled.

“I look like Audrey Hepburn.”

“We can try something else,” He said, rooting around her jewelry box. She grabbed his hand to stop him and squeezed it. He might as well have had his hand under her dress, though at this point, she would have preferred it.

“How about my cross?” She suggested, and Mulder pulled it out, and switched out the pearl necklace for the crucifix she always wore. Accidentally, his fingers brushed the back of her neck and she felt chills down her spine. She said nothing, but she inhaled sharply. She enjoyed the brief sensation, and part of her wished he would run his fingers down her spine.

“How do you feel now?”

“Better,” Scully said, though something was still bothering her. Mulder watched as she started searching around, and then she spotted it. “Give me your watch.”

Mulder slipped off the Omega Quartz DeVille Prestige, and gave it to her. She put it on, over her glove. It was big and clunky, and did not match with what she was wearing, but she seemed delighted.

“Anything else?” Mulder asked, his hands in the pockets of his slacks in a casual manner.

“You'll give me your dinner jacket if I get cold?” Her voice was low and breathy, and Mulder found himself entranced by it. She could have asked for the moon, and he was sure that he would have found a way to give it to her.

“Yes,” He finally answered, wondering why the room felt a lot warmer.

“I'm ready then.”

* * *

They got to the theatre 5 minutes late. They hurried inside but Mulder left the tickets in the car and had to go back. When they got everything sorted out, they slipped into their seats and ended up listening to the orchestra begin playing the first piece.

It bored Mulder. Twice, he almost fell asleep, and he also got up to go to the bathroom and the bar several times. It was not the sort of thing he was interested in at all but Scully seemed engulfed in the show. That at least made Mulder feel as though it was worth it.

During intermission, Scully left Mulder alone to use the bathroom. Mulder was halfway to drunk and walked out to get some fresh air. He spotted one of the violinists outside, smoking a cigarette.

“Hey, is that uh, thing tough to play?” Mulder asked indicating the instrument, and the violinist glanced over to him.

“Not if you know what you're doing, I guess. Been doing this for years,” He murmured quietly, almost shyly, the smoke curling out of the edges of his mouth and nose as he exhaled.

“Does it do anything for you?”

“Whaddya mean?” The violinist cocked his head inquisitively. The violinist was probably not more than 35, though with men, Mulder could never really tell.

“You know, does it help any when it comes to getting people in bed?” Mulder made a gesture. The violinist smiled, but shyly.

“No, but you would be the first...” The violinist suggested, with a waggle of his eyebrows, and Mulder gave him a flattered chuckle as Scully approached him and his new friend.

“Maybe another time,” Mulder said, giving Scully his arm.

“That the wife?” This elicited another flattered chuckle from Mulder.

“Ah, no. I'm hoping someday she might be.”

Scully’s cheeks flushed with a deep crimson, and she murmured something about them having to go, before pulling Mulder away.

“Mulder, what was that all about?” Scully asked when they were in the lobby. There was a tinge of pink in Mulder’s cheeks that told her what she needed to know: _He was probably drunk._

“Oh Mulder… I hope you're not too drunk.”

“I'm not drunk, just pleasantly buzzed. I made a new friend tonight,” Mulder said, loosening his tie a little. He gave her a warm smile and she gave him a worried one back as he escorted her back to their seats, his hand in the small space on her back.

* * *

The second half of the concert was not much better, though Mulder found himself a little more invested, now that he had a ‘friend’ in the orchestra. When the show was ended, the musicians mingled in the crowd with the patrons and Mulder made his way over to his friend, with Scully in tow.

“That was wonderful, really. I enjoyed it a lot,” Scully started, shaking his hand. He gave a good natured chuckle before shifting his gaze towards Mulder for his approval. Mulder echoed Scully’s sentiments, and then bid him farewell. It was a strange parting; Scully was sure she’d seen the violinist slip something in Mulder’s pocket, and Mulder seemed much more lighthearted and sociable.

“So, dinner. Where do you want to go?” Mulder asked, leaning against the door of his car, and watching Scully play around with his watch.

“Let's go with Italian. Are you okay to drive? How many fingers do I have up?” Scully asked, holding up 3 fingers.

“Fourteen. I'm fine,” He said, and then added, as though he had forgotten to say it earlier, “I love you.”

The admission granted him a look, but she climbed into the car. Mulder sighed quietly, his head softly hitting the roof of the car in frustration. Finally, he climbed inside, and started up the car once he was sure that they were both buckled in.

“I just don't know what to make of you when you say things like that,” Scully whispered after Mulder began to pull out of the parking spot and subsequently drive.

“Say what?” He permitted himself a glance at her worried features.

“When you say things like you hope to marry me, or that you love me. I don't know if you're kidding or not.”

“I'm not kidding. But I'm not going to convince you that what I'm saying is true if you don't believe it. Maybe one day, you'll look back and realized I have all along. Who knows?”

“I think you've had too much to drink,” Scully spoke quietly, refusing to deal with the newly unfurled problem that sat beside them like an abhorrent creature borne of dark desires. Mulder did not argue.

“‘ _What a sober man has in his mind, the drunk one has on his tongue_ ’.”

“The last time you were drunk like this, you came to my house and told me to get dressed because we were going back to Texas,” Her tone held indignation in spades.

Mulder wrinkled his nose at her tone and then clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Don't remind me. I'd rather not think about it.”

“Why?” Scully asked. She hardly remembered the incident, only that they were chased by bees and that she almost lost her job, and then waking up in the frozen, cold snow and then waking up in the hospital. Mulder filled in the blanks but it was like chasing a ghost.

“I almost lost you, that's why.”

A silence descended on the car, and she knew he meant it when he said he loved her and that he'd been saying it since she came back from the abduction. It seemed like a lifetime ago, though Mulder always remained her constant.

“I'm here now,” She murmured softly. Mulder glanced over at her but he was not smiling.

“Are you really here, though?”

* * *

Dinner was, as she had requested, at an Italian place. Mulder seemed scores more interested in his than he did at the opera, though hunger was a large factor. The lighting was low, and they were seated by the window. Scully ate quietly, while attempting to avoid looking at Mulder. Mulder spent most of his time trying to catch Scully’s eye and make idle chit chat which she chose not to respond to.

“Ignoring me isn't going to make me feel any differently…” Mulder said, cutting up the chicken he was eating. It was a slow, deliberate action that he was using to distract himself from the tension between them.

“Please, Mulder, not here.”

Mulder did not goad her. In fact, he chose to say nothing, and continued eating. The tension between them was building and twice, she heard him sigh in quiet frustration before he set his fork and knife down.

“I can't do this anymore. I don't—I don't—I need a glass of wine,” Mulder said, flagging down their server.

“Mulder, don't, you've already had enough,” Scully said worriedly, though he disregarded her advice and went for another large glass.

“I didn't even know you liked wine,” Scully said, though Mulder seemed to be concentrating intently on the food.

“I hate it. But I hate this more,” Mulder said, glancing over at Scully. She looked taken back by his admission, but said nothing, opting to stay quiet rather than enter into a fight with Mulder.

By the time dinner was over, Mulder was too drunk to drive Scully back home, so she ended up driving him back to her place. He stayed mostly on the couch, and watched some TV, but eventually passed out.

When he came to the next day, he had a whopping headache and could barely summon the strength to move off the couch, which he noted, was not his.

He worked out that he was at Scully’s and used that as an excuse to raid her medicine cabinet for something to quell his aching limbs and throbbing headache. He spent about an hour cleaning himself up as much as he could before staggering back over to the couch and sleeping again.

* * *

 

It was around 7 when Scully made her way back home. Mulder was eating cereal and watching TV on the couch, and when he saw Scully come in, he made room on the couch for her to come sit.

“How are you feeling?” Scully asked, and Mulder gave her a small smile.

“Shitty. Thanks for letting me crash here. I'm sorry I ruined your night,” Mulder muttered with a shrug, his eyes on his cereal bowl. The cereal had stained the milk a light pink, which revolted Mulder, as to him, it was a light grey. He set the bowl aside, and did not give it another thought.

“You didn't ruin anything. I enjoyed the concert, not so much dinner, although I'm not big on fancy dinners,” Scully revealed, turning on the couch so she was facing him. She used a steady hand to brush the stray locks from her face and tucked then behind her ear in a nervous fashion; thinking about the things he had said to her caused her to feel unease, and she wasn't sure if Mulder was willing to talk about it now that he was more sober.

“I'm sorry I was an asshole.”

“You weren't, though I would have enjoyed dinner more if we hadn't spoken about how you felt about me,” Scully admitted, looking down at the wood paneling that was on the floor in the space between their feet. Mulder shuffled his feet, though out of habit, because he was thinking.

“I'm sorry about that too. I say a lot of stupid things when I'm drunk and if I ever get nasty with you, please kick my ass.”

Scully laughed, although part of her wished he had meant nasty with his hands, and not in his words. She would not have objected to that at all.

“I'll make sure to do that then,” Scully remarked, smirking. Mulder rubbed the back of his head uneasily; she could see he was priming himself for something he was going to say. The hangover was probably making it hard to remember.

“Scully, I… I just wanted you to have a nice birthday. You really mean a lot to me. I don't think I can really express the feeling without calling it what it is, but at the same time, I also respect you and the fact that we are partners and that we work together,” Mulder uttered, though he shifted closer to her. Instinctively, she shifted closer to him, too.

“What are you trying to say?” She asked, her lids lowering in a way that implied she was interested in what was about to be done or said. He did not elaborate, but instead, he tried to kiss her. The sudden movement caused her to turn her head, which made Mulder’s kiss land on her neck. It was strange and awkward for them both, but he pulled away and chuckled, and Scully found herself taking his hand.

“Why don't we try that again?” Scully requested, squeezing his hand a little. They leaned in and kissed. It was a slow kiss that was more tender than greedy, and when it was over, Scully was at a loss for words.

“I must be dreaming…” Mulder’s voice quietly drifted along the small space between them, and he winded up leaning so his head was against the back of the couch. He stared at the ceiling as the kiss lingered on his lips, though Scully had long since pried herself free.

“We must be having the same dream then,” Scully replied, still somewhat in shock. Mulder glanced over at her and smiled.

“We should do that more often,” Mulder murmured, and this caused Scully to chuckle.

“Mulder we can't do that, people will get the wrong idea.”

“What, that we’re in love?”

His words fell heavily on the floor and Scully had wanted to sweep it under the couch, but she realized that all she had really wanted for her birthday was to spend it with Mulder, alone. More than once, she found herself imagining her life intricately entwined with his (more so than it already was) and though she had forced herself to put these thoughts aside, she realized that **she** was the only detriment to the kind of life she wanted with him, though not without reason. She was afraid of being hurt, as she had been in the past with her previous lovers. Mulder had proven many times over that he had not wanted for Scully to get physically injured, it proved oftentimes to be fatal for said person to be involved with Mulder’s personal life.

When she took too long to respond, Mulder breathed a long heavy sigh that settled in the air like a fog. She hated it.

“I wish you wouldn't sigh like that.”

“Why not?” He had never noticed that his sighs had a different sound or quality to them, and he was surprised that she had noticed.

“Because, to me, when you sigh like that, I hear the fact that you feel alone in this world. I hear you missing your sister in that sigh, but most of all, I just hate it because I know there’s not much I can do to fix those things for you, except one. You’re not alone Mulder. I’m here with you.”

Mulder looked at her, and then smiled a little—a sad, broken smile, and then squeezed her hand, which he was still holding.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Thank you for making my birthday… well, memorable. I don’t think I’ll be forgetting this one. It was scores better than the last time I celebrated…. You remember, when Pendrell died?”

Mulder nodded solemnly. The event had a strange effect on Scully, and though she and Pendrell were not close, it had caused her some grief knowing that the bullet he took was meant for her instead.

“I try not to think about it much. A lot of people have died, haven’t they? I must have some bad omen—I mean a lot of the people care about die on me, don’t they?”

Mulder’s question made her think back to her reservations earlier, and she voiced them, saying,

“You know Mulder, people die, that’s natural. Some before their time… the nature of our job is a dangerous one, and every day we come into the office, it’s a risk we’re all willing to take. That’s just how it works. None of it is your fault, though. Life just happens,” Scully said, though her tone was more soothing than sympathetic. Mulder appreciated the comfort, and adjusted himself so he had his head in her lap. With a small smile, she started to scratch his head, as she’d done many times to her dog when he’d been alive.

“Are you afraid, too?”

“Of what?” Scully paused and glanced down at him.

“Of dying because you work so closely with me. Be honest.”

It was an unfair question, because she was very much afraid, and she didn’t know how to really voice this without offending him, so she spoke quietly,

“Sometimes. Not because of you—our job is just dangerous, like I said, and so going out in the field and not knowing what to expect scares me a little. But the thing that gets me through is knowing you’re with me. I feel as though you being there makes it better, as silly as that sounds.”

This answer pleased Mulder and he closed his eyes, ignoring the fact that the couch felt as though it was cutting across the sea gently despite the fact that it remained motionless.

“Sorry again about your birthday,” Mulder whispered quietly.

“Nothing about it was ruined.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks Meg for the idea, and check out her amazing art [here](http://aliens-scully.tumblr.com/) and her equally amazing writing [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SpyderScully/pseuds/SpyderScully).
> 
> Also, if you're wondering what kind of watch an Omega Quartz DeVille Prestige is, it's not as classy as a Rolex submariner (in fact, a more direct comparison would the Rolex Oyster Day-Date but no one really cares lol) but it is pretty expensive. If you google it, you'll see what I mean. If you're wondering where I got this info, [check this out](http://foxmulderswristwatch.com/tagged/omega). The Omega era of Mulder's watch indicates it's post-FTF (where they had a much larger budget to work with).
> 
> And no. She doesn't give him the watch back.


End file.
